Sam leaned over the bathroom sink and rubbed cold water over his face. "Stop crying, stop cryi-" his throat closed and he collapsed to the floor. He gripped the sink tightly, resting his forehead against the cool porcelain. "Oh God, oh God-" broken whispers through clenched teeth. "I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is happening!"

He released the sink and and fell back, wrapping his arms around his knees. In spite of what Dean had told him, Sam still believed things would've gone differently if he'd been home last night. A sudden knock startled him from his dark, spiraling thoughts.

"Sam!" Dean called through the door.

He took a deep breath and tried to sound normal, "Yeah?"

"Breakfast is ready. Do you think you can eat?"

"I'm not hungry, thanks though."

"Okay, Sam. Let me know if you need anything."

"I will, thanks Dean." He couldn't face Dean or his dad right now. He was on the very edge and felt that one more kind word or gesture would shatter him into a thousand pieces.

---

"He still in the bathroom?"

"Yeah. I know we have to give him his space, I just-" Dean broke off, frustration evident. He chewed his torn thumbnail and paced the kitchen.

"I know you want to help. Dean, sit please." John needed to tell his son what he'd found out.

Dean sat across from him, resting his elbows on the table and still chewing on his thumb.

"I've talked to Caleb and Jim, double-checked a couple of things... Do you remember why we moved here?"

"'Cause it's mom's hometown?"

"That was part of it, yes. The other part was the notable paranormal activity in the area. Notable to me, anyway. Atmospheric anomalies, cattle deaths- nothing overtly malevolent." John rubbed his face wearily, "Dean, you know I've been working on a system to track the demon that killed your mom, right?" At Dean's nod, he continued, "I didn't realize soon enough, didn't put it together- it's the same kind of stuff that started happening in Lawrence before your mother was killed." He sat forward anxiously, "Dean, I think whatever happened to Sam's parent's is linked to that demon, our demon. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner! If I had-"

Dean interrupted him, "So what if you had? God, Dad! If you thought that thing was here, wouldn't you have expected it to come after us? Not Sam, not his family." He shook his head, "If it's The Demon, why did it go after Sam's family? What's the link? Is it because Sam's my friend?"

"I haven't figured that out yet. There's still so much we don't know!" He hit the table. He hated feeling so helpless.

"Dad, we need to focus on Sam. We're gonna lose him tomorrow. What can we do in one day?"

"I've been thinking about that, too. Son, it looks like finishing high school may have to wait. I don't think we can just let Sam go, but legally we can't keep him."

"What if he wants to stay here? What if his grandparents give consent?"

"That would be great, but we can't stay here either. Now that we know the demon is here we have to hit the road again."

"So, what? You want to take Sam with us?" John smiled weakly at Dean's complete incredulity.

"Yeah, but we need to talk to Sam about all of this. He needs to understand what's happening, what he'll be getting into." Dean gaped at him wordlessly. John didn't know how to explain his strong paternal feelings for Sam. He supposed he'd have felt the same for any friend of Dean's- if the life they'd lived had allowed Dean friends before.

Dean finally raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat, "Well, I did tell him some stuff..."

"What kind of stuff?"

He shifted guiltily, "Kind of told him we fight monsters and that we think it was something supernatural that got his parents."

"And I still think he's crazy," Sam spoke from the kitchen archway. John stood and smiled at him gently. The boy looked terrible and John couldn't help himself.

"Sam," he pulled the pallid boy into his arms, hugging him tightly. Sam resisted for a moment then relaxed into the hug, dropping his head to John's shoulder. His arms came up, fisting the material at the back of John's shirt. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

Sam trembled and John rubbed his back as the boy fought to hold it together. John let him go when Sam pulled back. There were tears standing in his eyes, but John could tell he was determined not to let them fall.

"Thanks," he whispered, looking at the floor. "Um, what were you guys talking about?"

"Sit and we'll tell you. You want anything to eat? We have pancakes, eggs, bacon..."

"No, but some water would be great." He sat next to Dean, but wouldn't meet his eyes. He kept his gaze on the table.

---

Dean watched Sam closely as his dad basically told him their life story. Sam's face didn't tell him much, but his body did. It was in the tense line of his shoulders, the way his fingers couldn't stop moving and the way he chewed his lower lip. Sam believed them and he was scared. Dean was thankful that they were able to pull him out of his grief, even if it was only for a little while.

"I can't just go with you guys. The police know I'm with you, they'd probably think I was kidnapped and I don't want to worry my grandparents. After- I just can't do that to them."

"Sam, I hear what you're saying and I don't want to scare you, but we're afraid they may be hurt if you're with them." John leaned forward, hands on his knees.

"What if you go with them and then run away? Leave them a note telling them you'll be in touch? You can write them while we're on the road and let them know you're okay." Dean touched Sam's arm, trying to get him to look up. When Sam raised his head, Dean added as seriously as he could, "Unfortunately, you'll have to miss school until we feel like it's safe to settle somewhere."

"Ha," Sam shook his head, "Now you've convinced me." He stood, "Let me think about this, okay? It's a lot to absorb."

"Of course."

Once Sam was gone, Dean quirked an eyebrow at his dad. John shrugged, "If he doesn't want to come with us, we follow him. We'll keep a close eye on him and the grandparents. Besides, I haven't been to Dallas in a while and have a couple of old friends there it'd be good to see."

- - -

Dean made himself busy around the house, helping his dad pack for a few hours before checking on Sam. Sam was on his bed, curled up on his side again with his back to the door. Dean knew he was awake because he tensed when Dean entered the room.

"Hey," Dean said lamely.

"Hey, s'okay I'm on your bed?" Sam kept his back to Dean and Dean winced at the raw sound of his voice.

"Of course, man." Dean sat on the foot of the bed, resting one hand on Sam's calf. "I just put you on the air mattress 'cause everyone says it's more comfortable."

Sam shrugged, but said nothing.

"If you wanted, I could head over to your house and pick up some more of your stuff?"

He was completely horrified when Sam made this sound, somewhere between a wail and a gasp, and curled even tighter in on himself- burying his face in Dean's pillow as his entire body shook with renewed sobbing. He scooted up the bed and sort of lay across Sam's back, holding his shoulders.

"Sammy, just let it go- that's it," Dean tucked his head against Sam's and spoke into his ear. He knew that sometimes when you were hurt badly, you just needed a touch, a reminder that you weren't alone. They lay like that for a long time, Dean muttering soothing nonsense and stroking Sam's back. He seemed so frail as Dean's hands traced his bony scapula and over the knobs of his spine. Dean felt a fierce protectiveness for this boy that he'd never felt for anyone. He silently prayed that Sam would decide to come with them. He wanted to be there when Sam remembered how to smile, wanted to see those dimples again. He also desperately wanted to show Sam how to fight, how not to be a victim.

- - -

John looked up when Dean came down the stairs.

"He's coming with us. Well, he'll go with them tomorrow, but then run away."

"Dean, I didn't think of this earlier, but if he does that he'll miss his parents' funeral."

"Yeah, we talked about that. He said he couldn't stand the thought of grieving in front of all those people anyway. We'll have to come back at some point and let him say his farewells."

"All right," he looked at the clock, 4:36pm. "We've got a lot of work to do. You know the drill, only pack what's necessary. I'm almost done down here, why don't you start upstairs?"